Fake Esch history

Why, oh, covereth thy river, ville d’Esch?

In April 12, 1128, the predecessor of the name of town Esch-sur-Alzette appeared in a papal bull. Asch was the name and since then, like a phoenix, the town arose twice from oblivion, for the second time through the fires of its blast furnaces, after someone found iron ore in the ground in the 1880’s.

Respawned after being torn down in the Middle Ages, the town grew in prospect and soul, and became the engine of Luxembourg’s industry. People were hard working, both imported and locally brewed, making Esch a testament to the greatness of man, a symbol of his achievements, the power of his will, and of initiatives taken further than his forefathers ever dared dreaming.

One, two, three... six furnaces were built, all pointing towards heavens, in their stature and majesty demolishing the gloom of Babel. Here, in their difference men understood each other by the common language of power in muscle and mind. And then, the ground heavy of the steel giants vomiting rivers of iron lava, these muscles and minds started growing restless in their thirst for new, self afflicted glamour.

In this restlessness someone, probably someone with the biggest mind — or muscle — got hit by the spark of wisdom and thought to himself: “That river, that Alzette, upon which our town was twice established for reasons of sheer conformity, needs to be covered. After all,” his immaculate brilliance whispered, “humans for all times having settled by rivers is poorest justification for open water running through our prudent lump of dwellings.”

And him, in the greatness of his mind — and muscles — turned words into action, and proactively took initiative, all in historically aligned glory. Soon, thus, the river was indeed covered, paved with stone, a path for men and their women, and their cars, and their will to walk on water, as the son of a much feared father; and feared fathers they were, too.

Epilogue

Years later, as the furnaces dried out, the town almost died again, history to roam repeated. There was no more need for heavy iron, no large scale demand for muscle.

Thus, the town has now been reborn from its ashes, in the freshening winds of practical knowledge, the prudence of our times. The steel giants were demolished, save for two, their skeletons upholstered as bibliothecas, research centres, laboratoria and uffici. Mind, seemingly, prevailed.

Yet those two, those two machines stand tall, ornamented and elaborate, by a single manifestation of minimalist symbolism, a narrowing, vertical pipe of red brick.

A ridged, protruding memento of the bulging muscle of man. Yes, of man, and men only, once again in alignment with the virtue of diachrony.

by Zoltan Tajti